He was no longer angry
writing his own epitaph.
Fighting a singular brute
without repeating himself.
Midnight. Untouchable moon
drops the ear-ring.
A mottled face worships
a ladder expressionlessly.
A monk walks past an
oversexed monkey.
A hidden agenda in end,
shows a dirty hand.
You know, I do not want
to tame an exploding –
navel. Transfixed I throw
the bottle in a sea.
One more parakeet dies
in my hands. How do I catch
a flying saucer in the
alien body.?
Satish Verma
